


Slip and Slide

by leonidaslion



Series: Maui [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-06
Updated: 2011-02-06
Packaged: 2017-10-15 11:27:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/160368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leonidaslion/pseuds/leonidaslion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><b>Prompt:</b> You tricked me</p>
            </blockquote>





	Slip and Slide

**Author's Note:**

  * For [insane_no_baka](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=insane_no_baka).



Dean fidgeted in Bobby’s armchair, which he’d dragged out to the salvage yard so he could enjoy the show in comfort. Also because it had annoyed Sam to no end watching him lug it out. ‘Smug bastard’ was the kindest of the things Sam had called him. Speaking of …

“Dude!” Dean shouted toward the house. “Get your ass out here already!”

“I changed my mind!” Sam called back through the screen door.

“You gonna break your promise? Cause, you know, there’s always door number two.” Dean smirked. It’d be a cold day in Hell before Sam went along with that particular forfeit.

“I am _not_ putting on leather chaps and playing ‘cowboy’ with you, Dean.”

Pressing his hand to his mouth, Dean smothered a snicker. He still couldn’t believe that Sam actually thought he got off on that. Talk about gullible. Once he’d gotten himself back under control, he yelled, “Looks like you’d better get out here, then.”

“I’m calling do-over,” came Sam’s immediate response. “You tricked me, man!”

Dean took a swig from his beer. “Hey, I asked you right out if you’d do it naked. Not my fault you weren’t paying attention.”

“I had my dick up your ass. Like I could possibly be expected to think straight in that kind of situation.”

This time Dean couldn’t quite smother his snort of laughter. “You said ‘think straight’.”

Sam was still hiding inside the house, so Dean couldn’t see the eye roll, but he could hear it in his brother’s voice. “Sometimes I think you’ve been thrown into one too many walls.”

“Quit bitching and get out here, Sammy! My beer’s getting warm.”

The kitchen door finally banged open and Sam skulked out. Dean leaned back in the chair, absently fingering his beer bottle, and trailed hungry eyes over his brother’s bare chest. It was about ninety in the shade today, and Sam’s skin was sweat-slick. His hair curled damply against his neck as he squinted across the bright yard at Dean.

Dean really couldn’t get enough of being able to look at his brother openly. Couldn’t get enough of Sam in general, actually. He’d been worried that Bobby would figure out what was going on and kick his ass—knew that he and Sam had been acting like a couple on their freaking honeymoon ever since they got back from Maui—but so far, the man either hadn’t noticed or was being tactful. As he traced his eyes over the planes of muscle he’d spent last night mapping out with his tongue, Dean was betting on tact.

Sliding his fingers through the condensation on the bottle, he wolf whistled. “Looking good, Sammy. Lose the towel.”

Sam cinched the oversized, white cotton rectangle tighter around his waist and scowled. “This is stupid,” he complained. “What if Bobby comes back early?”

“Guess he’ll get a free show, then, huh?” Dean said blandly. Sam’s expression went cold and he turned on his heels and started back toward the house. Quickly, Dean added, “Would it make you feel better if I joined you?”

Sam hesitated. He glanced over his shoulder with suspicious eyes. “What do you mean, ‘join me’?”

In answer, Dean leaned over and set his beer down in the dirt. He pulled his t-shirt off in one smooth draw and tossed it onto the ground, and then started on his pants. Sam’s expression was slowly loosening up, and it was more comfortable out here in the buff anyway, in the mid-August heat. When Dean was done stripping, he slung one leg over the arm of the chair and grinned at his brother.

“Jesus, Dean,” Sam whispered. He started forward—toward Dean, not his waiting task—and Dean shook his head.

“I don’t think so, Sammy. No touching until you’re done.”

Sam’s lips twitched up in a self-confident smile that made Dean’s stomach tighten. He kept coming, eyes drinking in the hard lines of Dean’s body.

“I’m serious, man,” Dean said. He was, too. No way was Sam going to get out of this by distracting Dean until Bobby came back.

“Sure you are.” Sam finally came to a stop with Dean’s foot planted in his stomach, keeping him at bay.

“Leather chaps,” Dean said, and then cocked his head in studious contemplation, eyeing the towel that his brother was still holding closed. “I wonder if they come in white,” he mused.

Sam’s eyes widened. “You can’t be serious.”

Dean rolled his shoulders in a shrug. “If you’re not into the cowboy thing, I’ve got other options. We still have those priest collars somewhere, right?”

Oh, he was so going to Hell. It was gonna be worth it, though, because Sam backpedaled immediately, falling in line and heading over to the Impala.

“Towel!” Dean called after his brother, and it was unceremoniously dropped to the dirt as Sam bent to retrieve the hose. Dean licked his lips and idly played one hand along his dick. He was pretty sure that Santa had mixed up his Naughty and Nice lists because this was, like, a lifetime’s supply of Christmas wishes and fantasizing come true.

Sam. Naked. Washing the Impala.

Fuck, he hadn’t even started yet and Dean was so hard it hurt. So was Sam, he saw when his brother turned sideways, shoulders set in a sulky line. He was trying to figure out how to get the nozzle open.

“Well, well, well, looks like someone’s a little more into this than they said.”

Sam cast an annoyed glance in Dean’s direction. “I’m not getting off on your twisted idea of foreplay, Dean.”

“That stiffie you’re sporting begs to differ,” Dean replied, retrieving his beer. He needed something to occupy his right hand before he wrapped it around his cock and ended things way too soon.

Sam’s jaw twitched. “Whatever. How the hell do you turn this thing on, anyway?”

“Pull the lever toward you, genius.”

Sam did and then jumped a little as the force of the water pressure took him by surprise. Dean started to laugh and then immediately stifled it as Sam glared at him. After a moment, Sam turned his attention back to the car and Dean let his grin break wide again.

“Top to bottom, Sammy,” he called as Sam sent the spray of water arcing out over the car.

“You want to do this?” Sam’s voice was bordering on dangerous, and his eyes were mere slits at this point. “Cause I can always stop, you know, if I’m not doing it right.”

“No, no. You’re doing a bang-up job. Really.” Dean plastered his best innocent look over his face and sat quietly until Sam turned around and got back to rinsing the car down. Then he took another slow sip of his beer, tilted his head and studiously watched the play of muscles in his brother’s back, the way the arc of water gleamed in the sunlight, the darkening sides of his baby. His dick gave an enthusiastic twitch and he bit down on the lip of the bottle to keep from moaning.

Sam worked his way around to the other side of the car and glanced over at Dean with a scowl. His expression faltered when he met Dean’s gaze, and when he looked back down at the car his skin was flushed with more than heat.

Yeah. Fuck yeah.

The day was bright around them, like an overexposed photograph. Dean found himself squinting as Sam moved around to the trunk. Blowing out in annoyance, he leaned over the edge of the chair to search for his sunglasses, which had been dangling from the collar of his shirt before he pulled it off. After a little squirming and a few awkward contortions, he found them in the dirt behind the rear right leg. He swung back up with a triumphant smile and caught Sam standing there slack jawed, hose running and turning a fairly large patch of Bobby’s salvage yard into swamp as he stared at Dean.

Dean’s muscles tightened in excitement, but he kept his face relaxed as he settled the glasses on his nose and sat back, dropping his legs open. Sam’s thumb slipped over the nozzle and the water spurted out in a hard, fast spurt before he caught himself and readjusted his grip.

“Jesus, Dean,” he breathed.

“I’m just sitting here,” Dean said innocently, and then added, “Soap’s in the bucket. Better shake a leg before she dries off and you have to start over again.”

“Before ‘it’ dries off,” Sam muttered, but he didn’t protest. Only closed the nozzle on the hose and dropped it into the dirt. As he bent to the bucket of soapy water that Dean had left by the passenger door, Dean tapped his upper thigh nervously. His brother was up to something; he could tell from the way that Sam’s lips were twitching.

Then Sam started soaping up the Impala with the oversized sponge that Dean had borrowed from Bobby’s stash, and Dean knew _exactly_ what Sam was after.

His brother wasn’t so much washing the car as he was feeling it up, thighs pressed against gleaming metal as he slid the sponge in slow, caressing circles. He edged around toward the front and leaned forward over the hood, legs spread wide, and squeezed the sponge out so that a stream of white bubbles spilled across midnight black.

The little bitch was trying to seduce him.

Biting his lip, Dean dug his fingers into his thigh. No way was he going to let Sam get to him. He was going to sit here calmly and watch the show, and then afterwards he was going to fuck Sam’s brains out.

Glancing over his shoulder, Sam gave Dean a slow smile. “You know, I was wrong about this. It’s very … stimulating.” He moved his long body in an undulating motion against the side of the car.

Dean was out of the chair and plastered against Sam’s back before he had a chance to rethink the impulse. Sam made a happy little moan and arched back into him.

Dean shoved his brother more firmly down onto the hood, one hand curled around the back of Sam’s neck. “This what you wanted?” he panted. “Huh?”

“Fuck yeah. Want—God, Dean, want to fuck you.” Sam tried to push up and turn over and Dean held him down.

“Oh, no. Not this time.” Dean bit down on his brother’s shoulder and was rewarded with another moan. Releasing that sweat-salted skin, he pulled off the sunglasses that were threatening to fall off his nose and tossed them carelessly to the side. Then he added, “My turn,” and gave a hard, fast pump of his hips just in case Sam wasn’t getting the picture.

“Gonna fuck me against the car?” Sam asked, squirming against the wet metal. He sounded winded, but far too amused for Dean’s mood. Dean wanted his brother strung out and pliant. Wanted him so needy that the only things he could remember how to say would be ‘harder’ and ‘yeah’ and ‘Dean’.

But most of all he wanted to know what it would feel like to be buried balls deep in Sam. Don’t get him wrong: he loved being covered in Sam. Loved that feeling of being claimed. But today, here and now, he wanted to stake a claim of his own. Not that Sam, with his flushed skin and his rolling hips, seemed to have much of a problem with that.

“You want me to?” Dean murmured, reaching forward and taking the sponge from his brother with his free hand. “You want me to fuck you hard enough that my baby’s gonna be wearing an imprint for the rest of her life?”

He shifted back enough to slide the sponge across his brother’s back. Watched the way that Sam, muscles tensing, shuddered at the cool, soapy wash.

“It’s a car, not—not a girl,” Sam protested, but the corner of his mouth that Dean could see was turned up into a mocking grin, and Dean could tell that he was being baited. Two could play at that game.

“Don’t listen to him, baby. Sam’s just never been in a three-way before, so he’s a little nervous.” He moved the sponge lower, sliding it across his brother’s lower back and across his ass.

Sam’s breath huffed out in a scoff even as he pushed back into Dean’s slow drags. “A three-way? With you and this hunk of junk?”

Dean ignored the insult in favor of giving the sponge one last, tight squeeze and tossing it to the ground. He rubbed his hand along Sam’s ass, covering his fingers with slick suds. Alternating his gaze between his brother’s hole and his own hand, Dean spared a moment to wonder if the liquid soap he’d bought for the car should really be going up there, and then decided that there wasn’t enough of the stuff to cause problems. Sam was a big boy, he could take it.

Dean traced one finger around his brother’s entrance and then, slowly, pushed inside.

Sam’s breath stuttered and he shifted his stance, moving his legs wider apart and lifting his hips up. “Oh, fuck, s’good. Been so goddamned l-long.” He flexed his fingers against the hood.

Dean felt a flush of jealousy and bit down on his brother’s shoulder again, this time deliberately sucking hard enough to leave a bruise. Despite the violent surge of emotion, though, he was careful to work his finger in and out of his brother slowly. Soap wasn’t the best lube, and Sam was tight as hell.

He wondered just how long it had been, and with who, and whether he’d known the bastard. Of course, said bastard was a speck of dust in the rearview mirror right now, while Sam was spreading and all but begging for it beneath Dean. And Dean was a generous kinda guy _(and also really fucking horny)_ , so he was gonna go ahead and not spend the next three hours marking Sam up without letting him come. Besides, Bobby might get suspicious if he got back and Sam couldn’t walk straight.

Not that that meant he wasn’t going to indulge the impulse some other time.

Dean grinned as he worked another finger in beside the first. He sucked hungry kisses across Sam’s back. Trailed his hand up and down his brother’s shivering flank. Scissoring his fingers, he nudged Sam’s face with his nose and then whispered, “You want it, you beg for it.”

Okay, so maybe he was feeling a little petty about the whole jealousy thing. He was totally justified, though, because Sam threw a hissy fit whenever Dean even looked twice at someone else. Such a goddamned woman.

As Dean slowly eased a third finger inside that waiting heat, Sam panted, “Want it. Want you so fucking bad, you d-don’t even. Wanted to ask you all week, but I didn’t—oh _God_.”

And hello, Sam’s prostate!

Dean smirked. “You didn’t what?” he prompted.

“Ididn’tknowifyouwantedto,” Sam babbled, pushing out the words so rapidly that it took Dean a moment to decipher what he’d said.

When he finished decoding everything, he gave his fingers a rough twist and drawled, “Didn’t think I was man enough, you mean?”

Sam’s breath fluttered out in a weird rhythm as he was caught between moaning and laughing. “Not—you’re just—so pushy—always want m-my dick up your—”

“That a problem?”

“No. God, no. Just didn’t know if you—if you did this or not.”

Dean was getting a little distracted by the way that Sam was squirming around on the Impala. He wasn’t gonna be able to hold off much longer. “Could’ve asked,” he pointed out, giving his fingers a few more pumps to make sure his brother was loose enough.

“Didn’t want you—bitching at me—for impun—impugning your manhood. ‘Sides, this was more— _shit_ —fun.”

Dean pulled his fingers free and then slid them over the soapy hood of the car, gathering up some more of that gliding moisture to slick his dick up. As he worked his cock, he muttered, “‘Impugning’. No way should you still know words that big.”

“Gonna fuck them outta me?” Sam dared.

“Might be—uh—in the game plan,” Dean admitted. He lined up, keeping his eyes on his brother’s entrance, and then pressed forward. The sight of himself entering his brother, combined with the feel of Sam closing around him, was almost enough to make him shoot right there. Sam lifted his hips to pull Dean deeper and Dean shoved his brother back down. Wrapped both hands around Sam’s hips and held him there.

“Don’t move!” he snapped, shutting his eyes and desperately picturing the grossest, most unappetizing shit he could think of. When that cresting danger had passed, he loosened his grip on his brother’s hips and pushed in the rest of the way.

Sam let out a low moan and immediately started thrusting back again. “Come on,” he whined. “Fuck me already.”

Dean obliged, not letting Sam really adjust to the intrusion but just pulling most of the way out and then slamming back in. Sam rocked forward against the car and let out another groan. He picked one of his hands off the hood and started to squirm it down underneath his body. Hips stilling, Dean caught his brother’s bicep. Sam made this really hot keening sound and rolled his hips back, looking for friction.

“No touching,” Dean ordered.

“Fuck that. I need—Jesus, Dean, I need—”

“You need to follow orders is what you need,” Dean interrupted, doing his best to ignore Sam’s continual efforts to ride his dick. “You want me to fuck you, then I’m in charge. And I want to fuck you just like this.” He draped his body down across his brother, smelling Sam and the soap and the sun-warmed metal of the Impala, and whispered, “I want to fuck you knowing you’re fucking her.”

Sam gave his head a little shake, but his ass muscles fluttered around Dean, so he wasn’t all that averse to the idea.

“You got enough slide there, Sammy?” Dean asked, and forced his hand underneath Sam’s hips. He found warmth, and wet suds, and Sam’s swollen dick pressed up against black metal. His hips gave an involuntary stutter and Sam was fucked forward into the car. Dean felt the slide of cock over steel and let out an appreciative moan. Then he swallowed a few times and said, “Yeah, feels pretty good,” before slipping his hand out.

“You ready?”

“Oh fuck, Dean, just do it already!”

“Bitch bitch bitch.”

“ _Dean_ ,” Sam warned, and then shouted, “Dean!” as Dean’s hands found his hips again and Dean started to let him have it.

Now that they were here, Dean worked them at a frantic pace. The combination of his brother’s tight heat around his dick and the knowledge that Sam’s cock was making its own slide along the Impala was driving him nuts. He tightened his grip on his brother’s hips, knowing that he was leaving bruises in the shape of his fingers and unable to help himself. Underneath him, Sam was spewing out a whiskey-rough commentary.

“—just like that, yeah—fuck me—God, Dean, so fucking big, you’re—can feel her, Dean—so fucking hard and slick on my cock—”

Dean came hard at that, his voice coming out in a hoarse shout that echoed around the empty salvage yard and bounced back to him. Beneath him, Sam humped the Impala a few more times and then Dean could feel his brother coming as well, and the thought of all that white liquid running out over his baby forced what felt like a second, stronger orgasm on the tail end of the first.

Dean swore, shaking, and let his weight fall forward over Sam. They lay there for a few minutes, both panting and trying to get their breaths back, and then Sam shifted.

“Dude, get off.”

Dean stirred himself enough to say, “No.”

“I’m serious, Dean. You’re really heavy.”

Dean thought about it for a moment and then said, “I don’t think I can make my legs work.”

Sam snorted. “I can’t believe you get so worked up over a fucking car.”

“Not the car. You _fucking_ the car. Huge difference.”

“That’s even weirder, you freak.”

“You got off on it too,” Dean felt obliged to point out. He was seriously considering taking a nap here.

Sam twisted his head around and looked at Dean out of the corner of his eye. Then he smiled. It wasn’t a reassuring expression.

“You’re really out of it, aren’t you?”

“No ‘m not,” Dean protested, letting his eyes fall shut.

“You’re totally fucked out,” Sam said smugly. And then, after a moment of contemplation: “You think you could get it up again?”

Dean’s dick signaled an emphatic ‘yes’, but then again it had never really gotten the whole ‘wafer thin mint’ bit. Dean, who’d actually been paying attention during Sam’s Monty Python marathons, said, “Hell no.” He wanted to be able to move tomorrow.

“You know what?” Sam murmured. “I’m betting you can. I’m betting if I threw you down over this hood and fucked you, you’d come so hard you’ll be feeling it for a week.”

Dean’s dick gave another flicker of life, which Sam had to feel considering Dean hadn’t gotten the strength to pull out yet. Sam’s little laugh told Dean that, yes, his brother had felt it, and yes, he was still an asshole.

“Not gonna happen,” Dean muttered. “So don’t even think about it.”

“How’re you gonna stop me?” Sam inquired, and then somehow—bastard was built like a goddamned eel—reached back between them and grabbed Dean’s balls. It wasn’t a hard tug, but it was startling, and Dean’s exhausted body gave a jerk, dropping his cock free and giving Sam the space he needed to spin around.

Dean blinked and found himself tossed down onto the hood on his back. Sam, grinning and running a hand along his own half-hard cock, crawled up after him. Dropping his head back against the Impala, Dean let his eyes fall shut.

“Dude, you’re gonna break me,” he complained.

“Maybe, but you’ll love it,” Sam answered, and then wet heat surrounded Dean’s cock as Sam took him into his mouth.

Turned out he could get it up again after all.


End file.
